


Only You

by Embracingtheplotbunnies



Series: New Targaryen Dynasty [13]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: Angst, Children, F/M, Siblings, also some family bonding, non graphic injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 16:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11627598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embracingtheplotbunnies/pseuds/Embracingtheplotbunnies
Summary: When a party takes a turn for the worst, Jon and Dany have to confront the fact that even though the wars might be over they still have plenty of enemies-and some of them grow restless.





	Only You

**Author's Note:**

> I keep feeling like it's been so long since I've posted anything even though it's only been a week (I think). Summer is weird. 
> 
> I think I'm going to start adding the other one shots in the series into the ASOIAF archives too because it's designed to be a mix of book and show canon anyway. 
> 
> We've got a lot of everything in this one-angst, family, Gendrya, baby Stargaratheons, a different castle. As always, I hope you enjoy. Reminder that this set in a slightly alternate timeline, for those of you who may not be familiar with my other works. 
> 
> As always follow me on tumblr @blue-roses-in-a-wall-of-ice for oneshots and drabbles that I don't post on Ao3-I'm nearing 1,000 followers and I'll be doing some special oneshots to celebrate the occasion. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own GOT or ASOIAF-all rights and characters to GRR Martin and HBO respectively. 
> 
> And then Sunday is the first meeting!!!! So bascially I'm just trash and the only way I can cope with it is lots and lots of writing lol.

Storm’s End loomed out of the mist, shining in the dim light of the setting sun. Dany let out a sigh of relief as soon as she saw it, because the castle meant a final end to their travels. “Thank the Gods,” she muttered. If she never had to ride in another carriage, it would be too soon-although the gods only knew they’d have to ride back to the Red Keep when the Midsummer festivities were over.

Jon shifted Rhaenyra to his other arm, trying not to wake her. She’d been sleeping peacefully for the last hour, bundled carefully into her traveling chair-a mess of blankets and scraps of soft fabric left over from some of the original designs for Dany’s dresses. But just like everyone else she was tired of traveling...as they had been for a few weeks now. “It looks like Sansa just got here.” Carefully he put the baby back in her chair and handed it to Nell, their live in nurse when the need arose.

The front courtyard of Storm’s End was swarming with people-it seemed like half the kingdoms had turned out to celebrate-or to take advantage of the fre wine. As they left the carriage, surrounded by their gold cloaks, they were practically tripping over soldiers and noblemen alike. The air rang with chatter and the whinnies of horses, and carriages were packed bumper to bumper as livery-clad servants unloaded various travel valises. Even the Queensguard could barely clear a path for them up to the castle’s door, where Lord Baratheon and Lady Tyrell stood welcoming their guests.

Gendry bowed and Margaery curtsied when the royals approached, but Jon waved them up impatiently. “How many times have we told you not to bow to us?”

Gendry rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I can’t help the fact that everyone else does it. Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the crowd.”

Dany embraced him tightly, resting her head on his shoulder for just a moment. “You forged the sword that killed the Night’s King. You shouldn't be bowing to anyone.”

She saw the flush that crept up the back of his neck. “Your Grace-”

“That’s Dany to you.” She stepped back and turned to Margaery, while Jon and Gendry shook hands. “And Lady Margaery.”

“Your Grace.” Margaery curtsied. “Welcome to our home. I’m so glad you could join us.”

“Of course. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other-the children haven’t met, have they?” Margaery and Gendry’s first child, Renly, was two months older than Rhaenyra. They were expecting another; judging by how far along Margaery was the due date couldn’t be much farther away. Already, some of Dany’s advisors were suggesting a marriage contract.

“Not yet-but I’m looking forward to our families being quite close.” She squeezed her hand and ushered her inside. “We’ve prepared the lord’s chambers for you and the King.”

Their heels clicked on the stone floor as they walked into the palace, leaving the noise of the outdoors behind closed doors. Storm’s End was clean and brimming with light-a far cry from the trashed and ruined castle it had been at the end of the Battle for King’s Landing, when Gendry had first been legitimized. The hall rang with laughter from the other nobles who had already arrived-but they all bowed when the royals entered.

A whirling dervish of dark hair launched itself at Jon. “You’re here!” Arya said, burying her head in his chest. She looked nice; her skin practically glowed with happiness, tanned from the sun. She’d been in Lys for a while on what she called ‘royal business’-although Dany suspected she’d used it as an excuse to soak up the sunlight.

“Did you think we’d decided not to come?” Arya disentangled herself just as fast; she’d never been given to displays of emotion. “How was Lys?”

“Gendry had to pay me to leave.” She looked her over carefully. “You look happy.”

“Having a child will do that to you, Arya,” Sansa replied, coming over with her twin boys, Rickon and Willard, in tow. “You should try it sometime.”

“Too many places to go, too many things to do,” Arya retorted-but she picked Willard up without being asked and he giggled excitedly. However much she said she didn’t like children, she seemed to be very good with them. “Aren’t you a sweet thing?”

“Rhaenyra misses you,” Jon replied. “You should stop by more often.”

“And where is the little princess?” Gendry asked.

“Taking a nap-she’s tired of riding.”

“We’re all tired of riding,” Margaery replied, steering them up the stairs to the lord’s suites. “Everyone needs a good rest before dinner. We’ll catch up then.”

They dropped Arya and Sansa off in their respective suites before they stopped in front of a pair of double wooden doors. “Dinner will be served at sunfall. I’ll have your valises brought up to you,” Margaery replied, smiling a smile as sweet as spun sugar before she sailed out of the room on Gendry’s arm.

Nell sat on a settee in front of the windows, with Rhaenyra on her lap. When the royals entered she stood and curtsied deeply, handing the baby to the queen. “I’ll come by before dinner, my queen.” With that she left, scurrying down the hall like a scared mouse.

Rhaenyra gurgled excitedly, squirming to get down. Dany set her in the center of the bed, draped in black and yellow silks while she was drawn to the view outside the windows-where she could see all the way down to the Narrow Sea. “It’s beautiful.”

She felt Jon come up beside her, pressing a kiss to the side of her collarbone. “Not quite as beautiful as the view from the Red Keep, but it’s close.”

She smirked. “Like you would know beauty if it fell off the ramparts of Winterfell. Everything’s beautiful when the only thing you’ve seen is the light off snow.”

“That’s not fair, is it? I’m learning.”

“Yes, but you have a lot to learn.” She stood up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek-only to run back to the bed when it looked like Rhaenyra was about to topple off. “Ask the servants for some more pillows-I’m afraid she’ll fall and hurt herself.”

He raised an eyebrow in a way Dany could only call suggestive. “Or we could call Nell and...get ready for dinner…”

She rolled her eyes and bounced Rhaenyra up and down until the baby giggled excitedly. “You can’t be serious.”

“We were too busy when we were on the road-I think I’ve forgotten how it feels to lie in an actual bed…”

Dany knew she should stop and be the mature one, but she could already feel herself going wet with anticipation. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt…”

Jon planted a kiss on Rhaenyra’s forehead. “How would you like a younger brother?”

“Oh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

 

"Jon, where’s my other earring?”

“Isn’t it in your jewelry box with the others?”

“I don’t think so.” She tore through it, littering the top of the armoire with discarded necklaces, rings, and bracelets. “Seven hells Jon, put on some pants!”

Jon grabbed another pair of breeches from the bottom of his trunk and a clean linen shirt, kicking his discarded clothing farther into the corner. Seven hells. They’d barely been at Storm's End longer than a few hours and he was already going to be late to dinner. "Fuck," he muttered quietly. 

“Finish the buttons, will you?” Dany stood in front of the mirror, holding her hair in one hand. She’d decided to wear it loose; unbridled, it cascaded nearly to her waist. Her dress hung open at the top, revealing her porcelain back.

He did her up carefully, the black fabric running through his fingers like water. He lingered carefully at the top button, running a finger down the back of her neck. “You don’t need another earring.”

“Please.” She ducked away from his touch, scrabbling through the box until she found another pair. “I’ll have to settle for second best.”

“Never.” He tried to kiss her again, but she rolled her eyes and ducked out of the way.

“Let’s just try to be professional.”

Even so they were once again entwined into each other, her fingers tangled in his hair and his hands on the small of her back, when there was a knock on the door and they jumped apart. A servant in black and yellow livery practically fell to his knees. “Lord and Lady Baratheon request your presence at a banquet in the Great Hall.”

Dany smiled at him as she placed her hand in the crook of Jon’s arm-even before he could offer it to her like a proper gentleman. “Of course. Lead the way.” 

 

The Great Hall was crowded with people-but there were two seats left in the center of the grand dais, right in front of a makeshift dance floor. A quartet of violinists sat in the mezzanine, serenading the dinner guests with soft music and a small fleet of cupbearers stood at attention around the room to make sure that everyone’s cups were filled.

“All rise for King Jaehaerys Targaryen, the Third of His Name, King of the Seven Kingdoms, and Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” The announcer’s voice filled the room and the crowd parted like the sea as the two walked the length of the room, slipping into the last two available seats between Margaery and Sansa.

The first half of the meal passed quickly and companionably, mostly spent catching up with the other lords and ladies. There were deaths and births to discuss and problems to go over; Jon learned the output of the fields of the Reach and how the Arryns were faring far up in the Vale. But for the most part it felt like a meeting of friends-especially his sisters. It was wonderful to see them happy and going about their lives the same way that he was going about his. Sansa kept them all laughing with tales of the twins’ antics, while Margaery shared a story about how Renly had nearly swallowed his mother’s wedding ring.

When the feasting slowed down, the music did as well-until finally Lord and Lady Baratheon were the first people on the dance floor to open up the dancing. Gendry’s steps were stiff and awkward-he was much better suited to smithing than dancing-but Margaery glided along like a leaf in the wind and carried him through all of the rough patches. When they arrived back they were both flushed and laughing; Margaery gave her husband a quick kiss on the cheek before she sat down again. Jon felt Arya stiffen next to him and he wondered how she coped with seeing the man she loved married to another woman. Sansa had been right; he couldn’t imagine seeing his wife in the arms of anyone else, even when they both had to dance with various dignitaries as a matter of course.

“How are things between you and Gendry?” They stayed back at the table as more couples took to the dance floor, including Sansa and her husband-who ducked his head bashfully when he passed the king-and Dany and Gendry.

She shrugged and shoveled another bite of cake into her mouth, firmly not looking at him. “They’re fine. Why?"

“I don’t know. I’m just...surprised you didn’t change your mind.”

“And marry him?” She groaned. “He asked. Multiple times. I love him, Jon. But…I don’t want to bear his children. I don’t want to spend my days wasting away in a palace when there’s a world to see. And I understand that he couldn’t come with me.” Even so, she moved a little closer to him and he felt her slip her hand into his underneath the table. He squeezed it tightly, aware not for the first time of just how lucky he’d been. “But...we’re traveling with each other to Myr in a couple of weeks...just me and him.”

“Oh. And...what does Margaery think of that?”

She shrugged. “She doesn’t mind. Gendry says she’s seeing the son of one of his bannermen.”

He opened his mouth to respond but the song changed and Dany worked her way through the crowd to join him, standing on the opposite side of the table from him as the band struck up a smooth waltz. “Dance with me, my King?”

“Of course.” Arya scooted away so he could get by and he took her outstretched hand, leading her to the dance floor. The candlelight glittered off her blonde hair, catching in the ripples of her dress-but she never stopped looking at him, no matter who looked at her.

They moved in time with the music. Neither was a perfect dancer; Dany knew bits and pieces of dances from many of the cultures she’d been to but Jon had never been taught ballroom dancing like his cousins had because he’d never thought he’d have to know how. But they carried each other through, and he only stepped on her toes once.

“How do you think Rhaenyra is doing?” Dany asked quietly, when the music swelled and covered her voice. Jon had to bend down slightly to hear her.

“I’m sure she’s fine. Just wondering where we are. You worry about her too much.”

She sighed. “Perhaps.”

“She’s perfectly healthy.”

“She won’t be if she falls off the bed.”

“I’ll speak to Gendry about borrowing a cradle.”

She laughed. “He’ll probably give you Renly’s if you ask nicely. He won’t turn you down for anything. It’s sweet.” The song finished and the guests applauded, with some couples leaving the dance floor to make room for others to join. She led him back gently to the dais, muttering something about how badly she needed wine.

They’d just reached the table when a page came up to them, dressed in the Baratheon livery, and poured a fresh cup of wine. “For the Queen?” He handed it to her, grinning widely. “A gift-from a new bottle, aged for a thousand years in the Arbor’s wine cellars.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him, put the cup to her lips, and drank deeply.

And just as suddenly, she collapsed. Jon barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground; her skin was very pale and her eyelids fluttered shut. Her hands, when he grabbed them, were as cold as ice.

The half full wine glass clanged to the floor, staining the stone. To Jon it sounded like a death knell, like the bells that hadn’t rang in King’s Landing since the Battle, the bells that weren't supposed to ring again for decades-

“Daenerys!” He sunk to the ground, his legs barely able to hold him up. Nothing made sense; his thoughts buzzed with no discernible meaning. He was vaguely aware of people moving around him, he thought he heard someone yell “The Queen has been poisoned!”, the music cut off abruptly...and the page who had brought her the poisoned cup had vanished into the crowd.  
Gendry was roaring something on top of the dais, the Queensguard closed ranks around him, and he suddenly snapped back to life. “Rhaenyra! Where’s Rhaenyra?”

Someone grabbed his hand and he turned to see Arya kneeling next to him. “Ser Mormont just left to make sure she’s all right,” she replied, keeping her voice low as if he were a frightened animal she was trying not to scare. “Jon, you have to ease up on her, the healers need to see her-”

He couldn't think because this couldn’t be happening again. He’d already almost lost her once; he’d knelt in the snow and held her this way while the blood left her body...but she had come back then and she was supposed to stay with him for as long as it took-

He heard the slap before he felt it; his head yanked around, nearly slamming him into the wooden table. For a minute he was filled with rage-but then slowly his panic seemed to clear and he could breathe again. As long as he didn't look at her too hard he could almost pretend Dany was someone else. He had to, if he was going to retain even some semblance of control. “Get ahold of yourself!” Arya hissed. “You’re the King, for god’s sake! Pull yourself together!”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“They need to see her,” Arya replied. “You have to let go of her, Jon-they’re afraid to come any closer.” He looked up to see a few frightened men wearing Maester’s chains looking at him, while he held Dany so close that he could feel her wavering heartbeat through her thin dress and so tightly that her fair skin was beginning to bruise.

Even so, she had to help him loosen his grip until Gendry finally came over and picked her up, holding the Queen in his arms as carefully as Jon held his young daughter, and walked out of the room with the maesters close on his heels. For a moment he stayed on the ground, shell shocked-and then Arya and Sansa pulled him to his feet. Too confused to realize exactly what was going on he allowed himself to be propelled through the crowd, the last ten minutes playing on a constant repeat-always hearing the music, seeing the goblet, feeling Dany’s skin go cold, and watching the wine spatter over the stone.

They pulled him down one hallway and then another until they reached a small infirmary. As soon as Gendry, Margaery, the Maesters, the Starks, Jon, and the Queensguard were inside the doors were barred; the white cloaks made a defensive perimeter and Dany was placed in a bed in the center of the room. She looked too small lying among the mountain of pillows; Jon’s hand started shaking and it wouldn’t stop, especially when he realized that there was barely more color in her cheeks than in the sheets she was lying on.

“Your Highness,” Jorah said, placing Rhaenyra in his arms. He muttered out a thank you and held his daughter close, allowing Sansa to steer them to an adjacent bed, where she took Rhaenyra out of his hands and held her for a while. The baby was crying at all the commotion but the sound was the sweetest Jon had ever heard because it meant that all hope wasn’t lost yet.

“Who was it?” Gendry was screaming as soon as the blur of white noise began resolving itself into words. “Who did this? I’ll kill them!”

“A strange page was arrested fleeing the palace gates,” one of the Queensguard muttered. “We have him in the dungeons for questioning. Would you and the King like to go see him now?”

Gendry turned to look at Jon-but Arya shook her head imperceptibly. “Not until we know the Queen’s condition. It would be a shame to kill them too early.” Her eyes were nearly black, and in that moment Jon had no doubt that she could rip off the man’s head with her bare hands and not even flinch. But he knew she was waiting for him, and for that he was grateful. He thought they'd killed all their enemies. He'd thought they were finally safe. 

Arya didn’t say anything else but she moved closer to him, holding onto his hand as if she was trying to anchor him. “I should have been paying attention-”

“We all should have,” he answered. “But we weren’t. And now we have to pay the price.”

Suddenly there was a commotion near the door among the Queensguard. He didn’t know what was going on, until he heard Tyrion’s voice rising above the chaos. “I am the Hand of the King and I demand you let me inside.”

Jon rushed to the door. “Stand down.” He pulled open the door, letting in a very disgruntled Tyrion.

“Honestly, if I wanted to kill the Queen I’ve had many other opportunities to do it.” He ran a hand through his hair, dumping what remained of his own glass of wine in a potted plant. “Doesn’t the Queen have tasters? Why wasn’t someone watching the wine?”

“As far as we can tell, the page snuck in and brought the wine directly to the Queen,” Gendry muttered.

Jon pulled up a chair next to her bedside, while the Maesters bustled around him preparing potions and poultices. Her skin was as cold as ice, and her breathing was shallow and labored. “Will she be all right?”

The maester wouldn’t look at him. “It’s too early to tell, my King-but we’ll do all we can for her.”

I’m going to throw up, he thought. Fuck. “Arya…” She ushered him past the Queensguard, promising to have him back within ten minutes, and steered him into a small privy. It smelled awful and the stench made his stomach roil-but the vomit came anyway. Arya held his hair back, rubbing his back in calming circles until his stomach felt raw and strained-but it finally stayed still.

When he was finished she walked him back. “You know that I love her too, don’t you?” She laughed mirthlessly. “I didn’t plan on it but...she’s lovely. I understand why you love her so much. She’s funny and kind and completely uncompromising on her principles and I’ll do anything to protect her. But I wasn’t watching hard enough. I let myself be distracted and I’m sorry. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again. But she’s strong. If anyone can push through this, it’s her. She’s survived worse. You both have.”

That wasn’t exactly comforting when he feared that the poison would do what the Night King hadn’t. “I appreciate it, Arya.”

Why couldn’t this be some dream he could wake up from? Why was he still being tested? Hadn’t they both gone through enough?

It took all the energy he had to open the doors and step back into the room. His chest clenched so hard it surprised him; for a minute he couldn’t draw in a breath. He started praying before he was conscious of it-please, I’ll do anything. Just let her live. Don’t let me live knowing that I killed her, that I could have done more...that we could all have done more. Don’t take her away from us. Not yet. 

But the gods had already spared her once. How many times could he count on them to be on his side? 

 

The sickroom was cool and quiet. Jon slept fitfully in his chair next to Dany’s bedside, waking up with cricks in his neck and aching muscles-but he refused to take another bed, or (gods forbid) another room. The others settled in for a long night as well; Tyrion had a cyvasse table brought in and seemed intent on teaching Sansa how to play, Margaery watched over a sleeping Rhaenyra, Gendry went to tell the nobles what was happening and how the party was irrevocably over, and Arya sat on the windowsill watching the carriages wind their way home in the darkness. A time of joy had turned to a time of sorrow in seconds. It frightened him how quickly fate could change like that. Had Robb felt that way, he wondered, at the Red Wedding in those seconds when he realized he’d been betrayed? Had he felt frightened? Had he known then, had he had even an inkling, that everything was about to change forever?

Had his first thought been for his wife?

Others came in and out-first Micael, to make sure Sansa was all right, and then a host of Baratheon bannermen. Rickon and Willard were crying when they were finally allowed to see their mother, and Renly looked scared and confused (as frightened as a child of less than a year could look). While the children stayed, all tired out from the commotion, the men were in and out patrolling the castle in ever widening circles.

Rhaenyra woke up and began to fuss sometimes after moonrise and Margaery picked her up carefully, making soft shushing noises as Sansa and Tyrion talked in low voices. “You’re all right, darling. I know it’s frightening. We’re all frightened. But your mother will be just fine.” In a way, Jon knew that she was talking to him too.

Dany shivered, but when Jon reached over to brush an errant strand of hair out of her face his fingers came away sticky with sweat. “Is there anything we can give her to put the fever down?”

“We’re doing all we can,” one of the maesters said with an impatient edge to his voice. “Every poultice, every potion-but at some point we have to put it in the hands of the gods.”

“If she survives the night,” another said, “she’ll make a full recovery. The poison is rare, from Asshai-but there are far deadlier ones.” Jon wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing, in this scenario.

“So she’ll be all right?”

He hesitated. “I’d rather not say, my King. Not unless we’re completely certain.”

He forced himself to nod, nearly biting clean through his lip and swearing darkly as it smarted with pain. “All right then. I’ll have to trust she’s in good hands.”

“The very best,” Gendry added, sitting down next to him while the maesters drifted away to confer-or maybe to just give the two some space. “A few weeks after we moved in, one of my men slipped walking on rotted floorboards and almost fell to his death. If the maesters hadn’t been there, he would have lost a leg. As it is, he barely walks with a limp anymore.” He sighed. “It’s much easier to be the one who’s hurt, rather than the one who can only wait.”

Jon shook his head and lowered his voice, scooting his chair closer so they could talk without being overheard. “A slip. One lapse in judgment, and suddenly…”

“You can’t blame yourself. We could all blame each other for days, but it doesn’t change what happened. You’re the two most powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms. You’re living legends. You’ve made powerful enemies. That doesn’t change, just because the wars are over.”

He sighed. “They’ll never really be over, will they? We’ll always have enemies to fight, no matter how many years go by.”

“But you’ll get used to it, once you realize you can’t stop-once there are people in your life worth fighting for.” He gestured to Rhaenyra, sound asleep in Margaery’s arms.

“We’re being tested.”

“Yeah. Always. What is it they say? Heavy is the head that wears the crown?” They both laughed, but the mirth was gone. “You know, I’m thirsty. Want me to bring you a glass?”

“I’d love one, but I don’t think I’ll be drinking wine for a while yet."

“I meant water-I don’t trust anything in the wine cellar anymore.” He stood up and left, mussing Renly’s hair as he left. It was a simple gesture, but so parental it made Jon’s heart ache. How many times did he allow himself to forget that every moment with his child was precious? How many times did he allow himself to think that they had a million of those moments left?

He suddenly just wanted to hold her, but she looked so comfortable asleep next to Margaery that he let her be. With some relief, he realized that she wouldn’t remember this night. Your mother won’t go anywhere, he though. I promise.   
He squeezed Dany’s hand and planted a kiss on her still burning forehead. “I love you, dear one. Stay with me.”

 

The fever broke sometime early the next morning. The second he woke up from another nap, Jon realized that something had changed. The maesters no longer strode around the room with their mouths in thin lines and the tension seemed to leak out of the air imperceptibly; Sansa and Tyrion were nearly asleep at the cyvasse table and Margaery lay awake reading a book, soothing the children whenever one of them cried out. It felt, in a way, as if they had survived a war or something equally brutal. We made it through the night, he thought, seeing the first rays of morning sunlight creeping through the windowpanes.

They weren’t out of danger yet, but it seemed all the more likely that they soon would be.

“Lady Margaery, would you like to take the children to breakfast with me?” Sansa asked, picking up Rickon and still managing to take Willard by the hand. “I think we could all do with some air.”

“Of course,” Margaery replied, righting her slowly slipping pile of hair. “Arya, would you like to come with us?” Arya had made it clear very early on that whoever called her ‘Lady Arya’, or ‘Lady Stark’, wouldn’t soon forget it.

Arya shook her head. She still hadn’t moved from her perch on the windowsill, but sometime during the night Gendry had migrated over to join her and they were talking intently in low voices. “I’m not hungry, but thank you.”

Jon wanted to say “Or is the conversation too scintillating?” But he didn’t have a death wish.

When the room had nearly emptied the Maesters performed more examinations. “Her fever has gone down,” the impatient one explained. “Give her a few days and she’ll be back to normal-although your Maester at home should monitor her in case she has other relapses. Eastern poisons and illnesses are stubborn-they’re hard to let go of.” Thank the gods. He was tempted to go to the godswood right then and there and beg the gods’ forgiveness for his doubt. “We’re lucky; things could have been much, much worse.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done.”

“We live to serve you.” He sketched an awkward bow and then even the maesters left. In the empty space the room seemed much larger-even though Gendry, Arya, and Tyrion were the only ones that remained.

Tyrion looked between the four of them carefully. “Well, I can see I’m interrupting a moment. Don’t let me stand in the way. Lord Gendry, do you know any good brothels near the castle?”

“Oh.” Gendry looked so taken aback Arya had to look away to stifle her grin. “Well, there’s one called The Dancing Swan down the road-”

“Lovely.”

Gendry raised an eyebrow as soon as the door closed behind him. “Is he always like...that?”

“Pretty much,” Arya replied. “Sometimes worse. But he’s not so bad. He cares more than he lets on.”

“Most people do,” Jon added. “About one thing or another.”

He left the room to relieve himself-and got sick again as the tension slowly uncurled from his stomach. He spent a few minutes wandering the hallway, looking at the pictures of famous Baratheon ancestors (most of whom he couldn’t name) and collecting himself before he finally walked back in-only to find Arya and Gendry passionately kissing.

He waited for them to notice he was there, but they didn’t. Arya was practically in Gendry’s lap, running a hand through his dark locks, and his were around her back, working their way up the back of her shirt-

He couldn’t hide the small sound of surprise he made when he saw Arya’s shirt begin to rise up. She’d been raised as his sister-it wasn’t that he hadn’t seen her naked before but to see her with Gendry and looking so adult...it was so different from the Arya he knew who had constantly been chasing him around Winterfell begging him to teach her to swordfight or training Nymeria to pack her belongings.

“You could have announced yourself a little better, you know,” Gendry said, as they broke apart quickly. Arya pulled down her shirt, looking uncharacteristically sheepish, and he stood up abruptly and walked to the window with his back facing them-as if Jon hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of the hard lump in his pants.

“Aye, I could have. But I could see I was interrupting a moment.” It took a minute for Gendry to laugh but eventually he did-although he started walking to the doors.

“I’ll be back soon.” With that he left. And then there were three, Jon couldn’t help thinking.

Arya sighed deeply, crawling across the windowsill so she could sit next to him. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure kissing someone is hard to mistake for anything else.”

She grit her teeth as if preparing to go into battle. “I love him. But I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to be Lady of Storm’s End and be cooped up in here all day, with the entire world around me. The crown is yours; I want no part in it.”

“And that’s fine.” He shook his head. “I just...it feels like you’re different, somehow. You’ve changed.”

“Maybe I have. Maybe Sansa was right all of those times she said that eventually I wouldn’t think boys were disgusting. At least, not certain boys.” Dany stirred in her sleep and her expression slackened. “Jon-”

“It wasn’t your fault. Don’t apologize. You didn’t take the white, Arya. It’s not your job to protect us.”

“But-”

“No. You do what you can and that’s wonderful. But we can’t change the past. And...it looks like things will be okay now.”

“And that’s all we can say.”

“Exactly.”

Arya glanced at the sleeping queen and placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “He’s still mine, you know.”

“Always. Beyond a doubt."

 

Once the maesters proclaimed that Dany was officially out of danger, life had to proceed as normal. Gendry, Sansa, and Margaery spent the evening meeting with bannermen and shoring up their defenses; Arya went for a walk and didn’t return for three hours; and Tyrion was stuck on babysitting duty. It was almost comical, the way he had to juggle four children-but he managed it surprisingly well. The last Jon saw of him he was reading a book on balancing tax returns with the Rickon and Willard clustered around him and Rhaenyra and Renly asleep in their bassinets.

Dany woke up late that night. There was no warning or fanfare; just a sudden intake of breath and then she tried to sit bolt upright but stopped halfway there, hand pressed to her chest. “Jon-”

Her voice was cut off because he hugged her tightly, ignoring her noise of confusion. “Thank the gods.”

“What happened? Why are you-”

“You were poisoned, no one knew if you’d survive.” He suddenly wanted to memorize everything about her-the weight of her hair,the smell of the scented oils she always wore after she bathed, the callus on the side of her hand from all the time she spent writing letters. “You scared us.” He wanted to add You scared me, letting it hang unsaid in the air between them. “Do you feel all right?”

“My throat is scratchy but...I’m fine. I’m really fine.” She buried her head in the side of his neck, holding him fiercely-almost desperately. “I’m sorry. Gods, where’s Rhaenyra?”

“She’s fine-I believe Tyrion’s reading her an exceedingly dull book.”

“You’re not serious.”

He managed a rueful grin, in spite of everything else. “Unfortunately. And I accept your apology-as long as it doesn’t become a habit.”

She laughed. “Don’t go thinking you have to even the score. Two near deaths makes up for one actual death, don’t you think?”

“Oh, we’re more than even.”

They were both too exhausted to do much more than kiss reassuringly, too afraid that someone would walk in on them. Dany moved closer to the side of the bed, pulling the blanket back. “Get in here. I’m sure you haven't slept in a day.”

Jon shrugged, gently climbing in beside her and pulling the blankets up around them. The bed was obviously only meant for only one person, but for the moment at least he needed the feel of her beside him-in more than just the abstract. “Should we call the maesters? Do you need anything?”<

She stretched languidly, reaching a hand under his doublet to splay across his bare chest. “Only you. The rest of the world can wait.”


End file.
